


pull a breath like another cigarette

by omphale23



Category: due South
Genre: M/M, dsss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-15
Updated: 2010-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-08 00:23:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/70794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omphale23/pseuds/omphale23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd been snooping through Fraser's things because you couldn't get Christmas and birthday gifts for your new partner if you didn't know what he liked, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	pull a breath like another cigarette

**Author's Note:**

  * For [miss_zedem](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=miss_zedem).



> It is exceedingly hard to write about both character and eyeliner, but my awesome beta helped me give it my best shot.

Ray found the makeup bag in the bottom of a cardboard box. He'd been snooping through Fraser's things because you couldn't get Christmas and birthday gifts for your new partner if you didn't know what he liked, right? You couldn't hang out with him all day and solve cases and pretend to be his best friend without knowing whether it was tissues or handkerchiefs, reeses or m&amp;ms, boxers or briefs.

 

A good partner had to find things out other than "licks things and pretends it's an investigative technique" and "don't let him offer to make dinner unless you want moose meat and dried moss with enough tea to float the Spanish Armada" which was all anyone said when he asked, even though the shifty look on Vecchio's face said that he knew a lot more than that.

 

Ray, he did what any good partner would do. He broke into Fraser's apartment while the guy was on vacation and went through his stuff.

 

It was for a good cause, and besides, it wasn't like he intended to steal anything. The photo was an accident, because Ray was just in the middle of putting everything back together when he ran across Fraser's secret stash of tranny goodies and got a little distracted.

 

(And fine, whatever, it was sort of theft. But he gave the photo back, eventually, and in the greater scheme of things it turned out fine. They didn't talk about it, and Ray figured that was because Fraser, he didn't ask a question unless he knew what the answer was, and in this case he pretty much didn't want to know how Ray got a picture that was supposed to have burned into ashes months before.)

 

So Ray put everything back, mostly, and meant to leave it at that. But then he thought about the photo in the file Welsh had given him and what Fraser would look like in lipstick and then he thought about dead worms and his Aunt Myrtle really fast, because the thought of Fraser in lipstick (or eyeliner, or one of those corsets that Stella used to have for fancy dinners, and _fuck_) the thought of Fraser wearing dark lines around his eyes and looking at Ray through his eyelashes did things that were definitely not partner-like.

 

If this was what it was like before they even met, Ray was completely fucked. He was going to be taking cold showers until he _died._

 

When Fraser got back he looked pretty normal and acted just as weird as Welsh said he would, and Ray only got distracted a couple of times by the memory of that bag of pencils and blush before he was driving a flaming car and wishing he'd taken the nice safe assignment with the drug smugglers.

 

After that, it was easier to think of Fraser as _crazy fucking idiot trying to get Ray killed_ than _hot crossdressing guy who was single just like Ray and maybe not as straight as he looked_, and so when Ray found himself standing in the cosmetics department at Field's, trying to decide whether Fraser was a Spring or a Winter, he was as surprised as anyone else.

 

He didn't buy anything. Not that day, and not for a couple of months after that. He didn't snoop through Fraser's boxes at the Consulate looking for anything but a pair of socks and when he did that, Ray asked first like a normal person and explained that his toes were completely numb and maybe in Canada they didn't have heat but in Chicago your fingers weren't supposed to be that color of blue. Ray didn't even go back to the store to look at his options, not until after the pirates, until after he knew that Fraser was staying and that whatever they had, Fraser wouldn't walk away without letting Ray explain. Not twice, anyway, and they'd already used up their stubborn idiot points for the year.

 

And it wasn't as if Ray could just blurt it out, look up at Fraser over a ham and swiss on rye and say_ so, you like to dress up like a girl_ or _I used to let Stella draw around my eyes before we went out to clubs because it made her happy_ or _if I bought you lipstick would you let me kiss it off again_. There was no good way to start that conversation, and so Ray just didn't.

 

He bought a couple of things, finally, when he couldn't stand it one more day, and tried them on himself but it didn't look right, the lines were all smudged and in eyeshadow he just looked weird and surprised, not smoky and mysterious like he pictured Fraser (not that Ray pictured Fraser in makeup that often. It was the sort of thing he saved for special occasions). It didn't work, not like he wanted, and the whole thing reminded him of Stella and dance floors and kick drums in ways that Ray didn't want to remember.

 

Ray shoved the whole bag under his bathroom sink and didn't think about makeup again until they got back from Willison, when Fraser happened to grab out a towel (they were jumping into dumpsters _again_ and miraculously this time Ray wasn't the only one covered in lo mein and pieces of stuff that made Dief cover his nose and whine and refuse to get in the car with them). Ray heard plastic tearing and a clatter before Fraser turned, pushed past him, and practically _ran_ out the door.

 

And that was it for Ray's fantasies about Fraser in eyeliner. He didn't even bring it up, because Fraser obviously didn't want anyone to know and he was so freaked out about the thought of Ray wearing it that he couldn't even talk about it later, just went on like it never happened and they were fine, two regular guys watching hockey and eating pizza who just happened to both like Clinique better than Cover Girl but who didn't, under any circumstances, talk about it.

 

They were so fine that Ray went out and tried to hook up with a nice con artist right in front of Fraser. He did it without thinking once about how Fraser's eyes followed him, how Fraser would reach out sometimes for Ray's shoulder and then stop himself. And when they ended up alone again, sitting out in the cold and talking about anything but what Ray wanted to talk about, what he wanted to know, _why Fraser was such a stubborn fuck and why they couldn't just admit what was going on_, Ray did what any self respecting American guy would do. He pushed Fraser's buttons a little to see what would happen.

 

If he caught Fraser looking at him a lot more often, lip caught between his teeth and nervous, like a kid with a secret, Ray didn't care one bit. He wasn't going to mention it, and if Fraser wanted to talk, he was perfectly capable of saying _Ray, I notice that we share an interest in alternative expressions of masculinity_ and taking it from there. He didn't, and Ray didn't say anything either, although he did get better at putting the stuff on and even managed to get most of it back off before he went in to work in the mornings.

 

Ray didn't even react when Fraser grabbed his hand in an alley and held on, thumb wrapped over Ray's pulse like it was some sort of test, like he could feel the way Ray's heart stuttered when he realized that they were still linked. He didn't flinch when Fraser showed up in a tux, looking like something out of a magazine, because Ray was making a point and knowing that Fraser looked that good sent his thoughts straight into the gutter but Ray was not going to give Fraser the satisfaction of knowing it. Ray, he was cool as ice and Fraser was going to say something first this time.

 

Ray started leaving things out, an eyeliner pencil next to the sink, a new lipstick under the coffee table, little stuff that he just picked up and put away when he caught Fraser carefully not noticing.

 

Fraser still wouldn't ask the question, but Ray didn't care. Fraser could shift around in his seat and clear his throat until he turned blue, Ray was not going to be the one who cracked. He was just an ordinary guy who happened to be wearing a little bit of mascara (Huey had squinted at him a couple of times but he didn't say a word, and Ray figured as long as he was Vecchio he might as well have some fun with it), and Fraser should just suck it up and deal.

 

Ray didn't care if Fraser approved. He didn't, because he had done that once before, when Stella'd caught him trying to put on lipstick without her and just tilted her head, pursed her lips, and started leaving her cosmetics bag at the office. Ray was done with caring about what people thought, and he was just fine with things the way they were. Ray liked the way he looked with his eyelashes dark and he was fine with Fraser knowing why Ray looked different these days.

 

Ray was totally fine, right up until the morning that Fraser slid into the GTO next to him and Ray ran into a hydrant because Fraser. Fraser was wearing eyeliner and staring out the windshield while he clenched and unclenched his hands around his hat, and Ray was done.

 

He was done, he was lost, and he drove them straight back to his apartment and dragged Fraser out of the car by the sleeve of his tunic, pulled him up the stairs and through the door and shoved Fraser up against the kitchen counter without saying a word. Ray was fine, and he was just pacing because he wanted to make sure that he didn't say anything first, because Ray was the one who was coping with the whole situation instead of ignoring it. Ray was calm, he was good, and he wasn't thinking of grabbing Fraser and dragging him onto the kitchen floor and taking him apart with his hands and his mouth and whatever else came to mind.

 

Ray was fine, he was dealing, and the thing was that if Fraser wanted to stop this game he'd better speak up fast, because Ray was bouncing on his heels, reaching for Fraser and then backing off, shaking his head and spinning away because this was just the world's stupidest bout of chicken and he was an idiot.

 

Ray gestured once more, waved madly at Fraser's face and his own and then threw his hands up, stumbled back and headed for the bathroom because if he didn't kiss Fraser he was going to throw up and that was a better option than getting punched so Ray voted for hiding in the bathroom until Fraser moved back to Canada.

 

He was halfway there when Fraser tripped him, threw them both up against the wall and pinned Ray there, face against the paint and breathing hard.

 

Ray struggled a little, but when he realized that it wasn't Fraser's gun pressing against his hip, he froze. Fraser growled, fucking _growled_, and Ray felt him drag his mouth across Ray's jaw and he turned his head a little, just enough that Fraser's eyelashes skimmed his cheek and after that Ray wasn't quite sure what happened, just that they were spinning and Fraser's mouth was hot on his and Fraser's hands were sliding under Ray's shirt and dragging it off and Fraser's knee was pinning him in place, pushed up against the hallway wall while Fraser stared at him.

 

Fraser kept getting out disconnected sentences, _a case, you idiot_, and _Francesca kept offering suggestions_, and _my father is never going to let me live this down_, which didn't make any sense at all, so Ray grabbed Fraser by the back of the neck and kissed him back and Ray wasn't going anywhere else ever again if he could help it.

 

He was just going to stand here against the wall and kiss Fraser, grab Fraser closer and pull at his tunic, tug until the buttons gave and he could get at Fraser's shirt, get under it to Fraser's skin and hear Fraser suck in a breath, feel him shake a little and mutter something about _mad, Ray, you were driving me mad and you didn't even care_ before Ray remembered that hey, wait, he had a perfectly good bed with sheets and pillows and everything and they should go use it if they were going to do this.

 

Thank fucking hell Fraser was smart, because if Ray'd needed to do more than grunt and point down the hall he might have exploded. As it was, they barely made it into the room before Fraser tipped them onto the edge of the bed and started in again, fingers flying over the buttons on Ray's jeans and shoving them down, wrapping his hand around Ray's dick and they both stilled, Fraser grinning down at him and Ray trying desperately not to make this as short as he was afraid it would be, squeezing his eyes shut and Fraser laughed, pulled away for a minute and came back with a lot less on, his skin sliding against Ray's as he leaned over.

 

Ray was done thinking, thinking was overrated, and he wasn't wondering at all what Fraser was going to do next when he felt Fraser's mouth slip down his chest and lower, when Fraser's tongue licked a stripe up his dick and Ray was never, ever going to live this down because as soon as Fraser wrapped his lips over the tip and started to slide down _holy fuck holy fuck_ Ray was gone.

 

Three hours later, when they both walked into the station with stupid grins on their faces and smudges under their eyes, Ray figured the funny looks were totally worth it. Who cared if Dewey was glaring at them for missing out on a troupe of mimes who got caught breaking into a clown convention, or that Huey coughed a couple of times and Fraser vanished into the bathroom and came back scrubbed clean and smelling of hand soap.

 

Ray was fine, Fraser was fine, and one of these days he was going to show Fraser just how it felt to have someone sitting in his lap, holding his face still and stroking pencil over his lashes, turning him into someone else.


End file.
